


Selfish Destinies

by Imatableclock



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awesome Gwen (Merlin), BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Canon-Typical Violence, Epic Bromance, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Humor, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Light Angst, Protective Arthur, Protective Everyone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2020-03-05 07:30:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18824011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imatableclock/pseuds/Imatableclock
Summary: What if, instead of condemning Arthur, the Disir condemn Merlin to the choice of revealing his magic or dying with the secret?A story of a mother hen with a selfless idiot for a best friend, a queen who is exasperated with both her husband and his manservant (advisor), and an annoyed knight who just can't remain sober long enough to understand what's going on.





	1. circle of fate

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So I was toying around with the idea that the Disir were more of punishers of those against the Old Religion rather than the keepers of justice, and this sprang up! They want the magic back, and what better way to do that than to make Emrys himself confess? Of course,they underestimate Merlin's stubbornness, but so does everyone.  
> Enjoy! Also, I don't own Merlin.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Circle of fate begins to close as the Disir condemn Merlin.

It was a busy day.

Merlin wondered the last time he didn’t have one.

The citadel was a flurry of activity; the laundresses were collecting the laundries from the knights’ chambers, the maids were hurrying about the halls for dusting them, the stable boys were running the dogs, one of them even managing to trip over a flagstone and have the largest dog run over him. Merlin almost clutched his chest with his armour-filled hands; that must’ve been painful. He dropped it off to the armoury, deciding that he would polish it in the afternoon when the bit of the frost left over on the walls of the armoury would have melted. He then rushed off to the cobbler’s, where he gave the orders for Arthur’s new boots (the other pair was stuck in a bog somewhere in the Darkling woods). He stopped to chat with the new maid on his way back, and then picked up Arthur’s breakfast from the kitchens and headed towards his chambers.

He didn’t knock, and simply slipped in because he knew that Gwen was up and about (she liked to take a walk and talk with the subjects) and _not_ in the chambers with Arthur. Merlin had learnt his lesson about knocking less than a month into the royal wedding. He set the plate on the table carefully avoiding the papers on it and pulled back the curtains, yelling in his most cheerful voice: “Let’s have you, Lazy Daisy!”

When the only response was a snore, Merlin decided that Arthur hadn’t done anything to deserve Merlin being nice to him and pulled at the blanket that Arthur was snuggling. Arthur didn’t let go; he simply clutched them tighter, which annoyed Merlin to the point that he disregarded Gaius’s warnings and used magic to push the king of Camelot off his bed. He landed with a muffled _thump_ and looked up to glare at the manservant.

Merlin gave him an innocent grin. “Sire,” he said, in his most George-like voice, “your breakfast is arranged, you have a council meeting in an hour, and then a knighting to oversee, a weaving contest to judge and a few disputes to settle. I suggest your majesty to get up.” He delivered those lines with a pompous arrogance which comes with flawless servitude, all the while looking at Arthur admonishingly.

Arthur simply groaned.

“Ungrateful prat,” Merlin muttered. Arthur mumbled something about idiots and kings. Merlin tutted and kicked Arthur’s leg, which Arthur returned. Merlin kept on kicking until Arthur pulled himself off the floor to glare at him, with more awareness.

“Eat,” he ordered, pointing at the plate of breads, cheeses and sausages.

“I don’t take orders from you,” Arthur said as he settled down in the chair and attacked the bread.

Merlin sighed. If Arthur was going to be that contrary the whole day, Merlin might as well actually disappear to the tavern.

 

* * *

 

Merlin, in the end, didn’t go to the tavern, though not for the lack of trying on Gwaine’s end. He had tried to drag him away for half an hour before the meeting, but Merlin, being Merlin, didn’t actually want to faint so early in the day. He had no alcohol tolerance, and no chance to change that (no matter what Arthur says). So instead of anyone drinking, they spent the time bickering, about drinking and plans and somehow potatoes. Arthur tried to leave them to it, but he couldn’t actually be expected to put on his own clothes, could he?

Currently, Merlin stood behind the king (because of course he couldn’t sit at the round table. It stung sometimes) as Leon read aloud the report of a fire and a death. There was also a sorcerer, and Merlin almost shuddered when Arthur spit out “The sorcerer” with such hate. Arthur, of course, decided that the only way to honour Sir Ranulf’s memory was to cancel all the events of the day and personally hunt down Osgar, the sorcerer. Merlin sighed internally. It was almost as if the idiot was trying to get himself killed.

After the knights and the noblemen on the table gave their condolences and whispered furiously among themselves, Merlin followed Arthur out and turned towards the stables. Maybe the prat wouldn’t notice his absence and let him get away with charming the saddles.

 

* * *

 

This was probably the worst patrol he’d ever led, and that was saying something considering he’d led one on the cusp of manhood in which a knight actually shot another when a boar ran into the poor man’s horse. The day was unnaturally bright, and the birdsong was non-existent, making their horses’ _clip-clop_ unreasonably loud and their every move visible. And all of his men knew that the only way to win against a sorcerer is stealth and trickery.

This patrol was also incredibly boring, a fact which contributed to this patrol being the worst more than it should. Merlin behind him was so tense he almost seemed to be shaking; he had jumped at the leaves crunching under _his own horse’s hooves._ Arthur shouldn’t have brought the girl along; no matter how much muscle he’d put on after Arthur forced a sword into his hands (he didn’t want bandits to take Merlin _ever_ again; it’d be more than his young heart could take), the man was still liable to hiding behind a tree as the knights in shining armour (not really, Merlin hadn’t polished his) defeated the evil sorcerer. Arthur thought idly that this Osgar would be the first sorcerer to die by his hand in his reign.

Merlin let out a squeak, and Arthur decided that they could cover the rest on foot. They were in the area anyway. He turned back to look at Merlin, whose face was so white it seemed painted. Arthur wondered what had made him so scared, and then remembered his ‘funny feelings’. They always led to something, and Arthur’s apprehension increased tenfold. He saw a main path and a side one which careened off it, and so did Merlin, who grabbed Gwaine and started tugging him towards it, but glanced at him for permission. Arthur nodded, of course he shouldn’t subject anyone to both of them after the conversation this morning. He was a merciful man.

He walked along the path, gesturing his knights to follow him. They ambled along for about a quarter if an hour until they saw a man sitting on a log, a little off the path, toying with something in his hands. He gestured them to tip-toe quietly. Luck was on his side; the man hadn’t noticed them, and Merlin was nowhere near. Positioning his sword as to impale the opponent directly in case the man decided to attack, he demanded “Who are you?”

The man turned to look at him, his face surprisingly innocent with the full cheeks and wide eyes. His mouth curled in distaste as he took him in. “My name is Osgar,” the man said, with the solemnity of a man delivering a death sentence “And I have a message for Emrys.”

“Now,” Elyan interjected, frantically making eye contact with everyone, “Who is Emrys?”

“The immortal,” Percival whispered reverently, as if talking about legends, “But we do not know him.”

Arthur looked at all of them confusedly. The man- Osgar- gave a mirthless laugh, “You all know him well, but not well enough, it seems.”

Merlin and Gwaine chose that moment to enter. Merlin was even paler than he was before, and his expression was guilt and panic until his eyes settled on Arthur (why guilt? Was the idiot planning to be self-sacrificial again?). Gwaine stalked towards Osgar and pointed his sword towards him. “You,” he spit, “are a heretic, sorcerer and a murderer. Why should we take you to anyone?”

Osgar’s features morphed into rage, and he sneered, “Just a man who values his freedom.”

As soon as he said those words, he hurried past Arthur and all his knights, towards Merlin. Arthur almost stabbed him without listening to his pleas for threatening his defenceless manservant. He barely controlled the urge. The man knelt at Merlin’s boots and didn’t even look up to Merlin’s face. He looked… guilty. _What would a man like that be guilty about?_ Arthur thought uncomfortably.

“Sire,” the man said as he turned something in his hands and now he looked reverent. Arthur’s discomfort mounted.

“I am Osgar, and I am sent from the sacred Disir to pass judgement on Emrys, the guardian of Once and Future King” the man declared,

Arthur didn’t believe what was happening. Why was this man referring to Merlin as Emrys, and who was “Once and Future King”? The name sounded familiar, though he couldn’t imagine Merlin being a guardian to anyone, much less any king (he almost wished it was him; he couldn’t bear the thought of Merlin belonging to some other king). But the thing that annoyed him the most was how the man declared that he was judging Merlin (though he couldn’t understand why anyone would judge Merlin) without any explanation. “What right,” Arthur said, “have you to pass judgement on this man?”

And then the man looked up and Merlin, looked him in the eye, and said “No man is above the Disir,” there was smirk on his face, “however powerful.”

The man seemed to be breathing heavily as he continued “It is my duty to pass their judgement on to you, Lost King.” And then something in his hands shined, and Arthur almost stabbed the man but it was simply a coin. He simply said, “Your hand,” as he looked down again.

Merlin, who was silent during this exchange, looked like he had seen a ghost. His eyes were wide and panicked, but his mouth was frozen in surprise. He looked like he couldn’t believe what was happening. _He is as clueless as we are,_ Arthur thought with satisfaction, _for once_. He held out his hand, and Osgar placed the huge coin in his open hand and ran his fingers over it.

“It is done,” Osgar said, and for the first time since the beginning of the patrol, Merlin said “What does this mean?” His voice was hoarse but scratchy, as if he’d been yelling for hours.

“It is both judgement and fate,” the man said, once again looking up, “For you, Emrys, are failing your destiny and will cause the Once and Future King’s death to come to pass, condemning Albion along with it.”

Merlin’s hands started shaking; Arthur noticed because he was watching the man. _Come on,_ he thought frantically, _what the hell is going on?_

The man, unperturbed, continued cryptically “The Disir have spoken. The circle of fate begins to close, for even as Camelot flowers, the seeds of her destruction are being sown.”

He then grabbed Merlin’s arm “Its not too late, my lord, to set destiny on its path.” And with that, the man disappeared, leaving Merlin standing there, frozen, like a man condemned to a fate worse than death.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments! More chapters coming soon.


	2. as it seems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This is my first story of multiple chapters, so I guess the chapter length would vary a bit as this continues.  
> This is an aftermath of what happens in the last chapter, as well as the events of the past few months. Arthur Pendragon is oblivious (as always), Gwen is awesome, Gwaine is drunk and Merlin is a smol, scared bean.  
> Dig in!

Gwen watched as her husband and her best friend rode off to deal with a sorcerer, a man who was known to have murdered one of the best knights that Uther Pendragon had trained. Sir Ranulf was a lonely man, after all his fellow knights but one were slaughtered when he was away at a delegation. That probably was the reason he chose to be far, far away from the citadel, the hallways too familiar to not echo emptiness. As she stared across the people milling about, significantly less than the morning since it was turning out to be a sunny day, she realised that she couldn’t bear losing anyone. Not now. She feared that losing anyone would destroy whatever precarious equilibrium she was in and the she’d go raring off a cliff like Queen Carmen.

She had become the queen that she was expected to be. She behaved like one, talked like one, walked like one, a model image of politeness and dignity. She felt hidden sometimes, when the people who used to talk with her about so many things either turned their eyes away or simply bowed and waited, as if they had no right to speak unless she did. She felt exposed sometimes, too, when she stood before all the people without the anonymity of being a servant, or when the women at court discussed her dresses and her posture and her jewelry and her hair and _oh gods_ \- she couldn’t do much except stay silent, because she was likely to ramble if she tried to speak. That brought a smile to her face, and she was too tired to censor it into a mask of expressionlessness.

The only people who had not changed around her were Merlin and Arthur. Even Elyan had taken to showing decorum, which was something she’d have to tease out of him. In private, of course. Merlin still acted Merlin-y around her, impromptu hugs and shared laughs and tended to call her “My Lady” as often as he called Arthur “Your Majesty”, which was not at all. Arthur was his same fierce self, nudging her across chasms and valleys with a gentleness mingled with ferocity that made her fall for him in the first place. She wondered how life would’ve been if he was still the same man he was before Merlin. Because everyone in the castle knew that it was Merlin who pushed him to be the golden king of Camelot that he was always meant to be, and that there was no Arthur without Merlin. Though, she wondered how much Merlin relied on Arthur, and she found out that he was such a private man she had no idea at all. He had secrets, even though he was an open book to everyone. Maybe it was his magic, something Gwen had suspected since the day he said he was psychic and when she found out that while it was Morgana that was scheming, another sorcerer took the fall. Sometimes she liked to believe that the old man was Merlin himself, and not a part of his benevolent group of sorcerers. If anyone believed that magic was evil, they would be proved wrong because if _Merlin_ had magic it couldn’t be evil at all.

She turned away and went inside the citadel, deciding that if she was going to think that much, she’d rather do it sitting in a fur-lined chair in her cool chambers. But then, impulsively, she turned towards the kitchens. As she turned, she saw a couple of maids who were playing with each other’s hair at the entrance scurry off to work. She was the Lady of the Household, after all, and while everything took care of itself in a castle which ran so long without a queen, she figured it would do no harm to check (or gossip).

 

* * *

 

It definitely didn’t do any harm. Once she went to the kitchens, everybody froze, but after talking to them for a while, they warmed up a bit. While they still called her “My Lady”, they talked to her about the little changes, the new maids, the new stories, and the old easiness flew back. She still rambled sometimes, talking about things she had to wrack her mind for being relatable to the rest, but it became easier and easier until she found that it was time for lunch, and they were talking about the new frilly dresses of Lady Elise. She then took her lunch back to her chambers, thinking that this little perch of sanity and, most importantly, _joy,_ would be lost if she had to see Lisa bow to her and avoid her eyes when Gwen had been the one who held her as she cried when the baker’s boy had broken her heart. She’d do it more often but then she wondered how Arthur would react. She knew in some corner of her heart that he would just look at her with barely concealed awe, a look that he gave her whenever she did something that both Gwen and Queen Guinevere would do, but then she imagined him looking at her with disappointment at not being someone he expected she would be and she would resign herself to a very lonely evening.

As lounged back in the fur-lined chair and ate at the sweetmeats she used to longingly look at, staring at the little shield Arthur had hung on the opposite wall as a memento of his first tourney, she felt that going back and forth between being Gwen and being Queen until both of them struck an accord was worth everything the two of them had.

* * *

 Arthur walked to his chambers. He didn’t look back to see whether Merlin followed him. He didn’t care anyway; the man wouldn’t speak a word anyway.

His thoughts were buzzing around in his head; indistinct speculations of explanations which were getting more and more ridiculous. The hallways were filled with nobles rushing about with their servants following meekly around. He saw two servants gossiping behind their masters’ backs entirely in hand signals, something which would’ve made him laugh some other time but today he was too busy being confused and betrayed and annoyed. He looked up to the door of his chambers without realising how he got there and sighed. He couldn’t afford to be so lost, not when there was a real possibility that Merlin could be a powerful immortal warlock king. Or that he could be killed.

He walked in to see Guinevere sitting at the table with her chair turned towards the window, an empty plate next to her. She looked up as he entered, and what had happened must have shown on his face because he was wrapped in her arms. He simply closed his eyes and rested his head on her shoulder.

* * *

 

After the nap and a bit of food, Arthur felt human again. Guinevere had immediately steered him towards bed after lunch and while some other time he’d have taken it as a sign to do something more, today she simply tucked him in and sat next to him as she ran her hands through his hair. She had cancelled some of his activities for the day and had taken over the rest. He looked out to the courtyard and stretched. Maybe he could survive the day.

He called a servant from the hallway and told him to fetch Merlin. It was the same servant who was making signs behind his master’s back. He smiled to himself. The boy reminded him of how Merlin used to b- is. He decided to stop thinking and simply puttered around overturning things.

There was a knock. Merlin never knocked (unless Guinevere was with him, but the boy had to have _some_ common sense, Arthur had _fetched_ him).

“You’ve finally learnt to knock, haven’t you?” he tried his best to sound arrogant, because otherwise Merlin would panic, and the explanation would be over before it had even begun.

There was silence. Merlin was stared at him in shock and blinked furiously for a minute, and then pulled his features into mock rage and said indignantly, “What on Earth did you do here? I’m pretty sure you can’t throw a tunic this far from behind the screen. And why would that vase be shattered? Were you trying to actually clean the top of the wardrobe?  Of course, your Royal Pratliness, you can’t even be trusted to do that. Should've left the work you the experts, you clotpole. Honestly, you wouldn’t even survive a day without me….” He rambled on for a while, and then frantically dawdled about (Arthur didn’t even know a person could do that until then) while muttering obscenities that made Arthur want to fill his ears with wax. Preferably for a significant amount of time.

Arthur settled down in his chair and watched him for a while. Merlin did usually dawdle about, but today there was line of sweat on his forehead and his face was twitchy, as if it couldn’t decide between a grin or a grimace. He was definitely hiding something. _It doesn’t have to be that he’s a secret warlock king_ he thought, _maybe he just dyed my tunics pink again._ But he had a feeling that that was not the case. After all, the last time he did that, he was found bragging to Gwaine about it while masquerading as a "prat" (which definitely was not Arthur). His mind was reminding him of the times when everything was, in fact, a milder headache. He smiled, and Merlin looked at him and froze.

He looked like he was scared. Arthur cleared his throat and hoped that he wouldn’t rip his sheets (which he was straightening now) as a distraction as he did the last week. The proof of lying had hurt, but he was used to it and Merlin hadn’t tried to murder him (yet).

He stayed stock still for a while, and, sensing no way out, sighed and dropped to the chair next to him. He looked at Arthur. Arthur looked at him. Arthur cleared his throat.

“So, what was that today?” Arthur asked, pointedly, making sure that even the idiot couldn’t miss the meaning. Arthur had known that he wasn’t actually an idiot, but plausible deniability was essential to running a kingdom.

If he could, Merlin looked even more intimidated than he did before. His hands shook as he fidgeted with the hem of his tunic, as if he had been scared for a while. _Hah!,_ he thought, _he’s scared of being outed as a sorcerer!_

 _Or maybe,_ another, more rational, less scream-y voice piped up, _he’s scared because he had no idea either._

That seemed like the more plausible scenario, and it made sense, since however clever Merlin was in hiding his secrets, he was still an idiot in more ways than one, and not knowing that he was _the most powerful sorcerer ever_ (as Percival had told him when Arthur interrogated him after dismounting, since the man was the most likely to know due to his ominous, thrice-blasted muttering) was one of the things he was likely to do.

So, when Merlin said that he had no idea about it and he’d have to talk to Gaius, he followed him out and cuffed him on the head for good measure.

* * *

 

After talking to Gaius, Arthur felt like he wanted to slam his head into a wall hard enough to kill him so that he would die and not have to deal with the mess his life had become. Arthur was used to dealing with messes, ones which were close to him and ones which happened from afar. But while betrayal, hurt and guilt were some things he had dealt with plenty in the past, the pain of watching someone he loved die as he was helpless to do anything was something he’d only dealt with once. And whatever he had done as his father lay dying wasn’t “dealing” with anything anyway.

At the beginning, talking with Gaius only seemed to fuel his suspicions since him and Merlin seemed thick as thieves, but after the man told him about the judgement of the Disir and the rune mark, all his thoughts came to a screeching halt. Because what it meant was that Merlin was condemned to die, and whether he was a powerful sorcerer lying to him since the day they met or an innocent man who didn’t deserve his punishment, Arthur couldn’t lose him, whatever part of him he had. Even the thought of losing the man who walked beside him (silent because he knew Arthur well enough to know he had to let him think) made his chest clench painfully in misery, because he knew that it might as well destroy him. He had no illusions about it, he knew perfectly well how much Merlin mattered to him. He knew that Merlin had no idea how overwhelmingly much Arthur cared, but it wasn’t like Arthur would tell him. He didn’t have to, because Merlin was right next to him and he always came back and then Arthur would show his thinly veiled affection in insults and manhandling. But the knowledge that Merlin was all but a dead man walking threatened to rip his world to pieces.

He knew that Merlin had secrets, he knew that he guarded them closely. He had tried to get them out of him, back when he believed that he had a right to know everything as a privilege for protecting his kingdom. He had given up the second he realised that Merlin was too loyal to ever betray his sovereign, but it still hurt to not be trusted that much in return. So he had let Merlin be, for he was a starving man for whatever scraps of friendship Merlin threw at him, and was too scared of losing what he had for more. But it seemed like that was going to happen anyway.

He wandered the corridors until he came to a decision. He knew that Merlin was following him, or rather, walking along with him, so he only had to turn and order- “Inform the knights of the table,” he didn’t have to clarify which, “We ride at first light.”

* * *

 

Gwaine was, essentially, drunk. Not as drunk as he preferred, of course, since he could still feel frustrated about his lack of focus. But, well, drunk enough that he couldn’t focus on it that much. Many people had no idea why he drank. His mum had called him smart as he figured out every noble’s ulterior motives at the court before his father went and got himself killed, she had called him smart as he came up with new ways of getting coin when the king refused to help them; she had called him smart until she died. He suddenly felt more sober than he did before and took another huge gulp of ale from his tankard.

It didn’t stop him from thinking anymore, though. He thought about hurt and betrayal and loss and not being trusted and knowing that there would be no time to built it up. He thought until all his thoughts mixed into a mass of feelings and emotions and thoughts, until the crack on the wall opposite to him that he had looked at forlornly as he thought had turned into a valley and the sounds of loud chatter from the table to his left from a group of merchants who had had good sales last month had turned into soothing background music. He stayed that way until his friends (knights) had dragged him out of his empty flagon as they had something to tell him. Little did they know, that he drank because didn’t want himself to know. But as Percival wrapped his (huge, muscular) arm around his shoulder with a frown on his (beautiful) face, he grinned at him and held his arms out like a babe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are always appreciated. Do let me know what you think about this.


	3. to close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They confront the Disir (the knights do; Merlin just stands there being scared as hell).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I'd do it in a few days, but, well, got carried away. Try to keep in mind that I’m always in a perpetual state of sleep deprivation, though it's been worse since college began. Anyway, some of you may have an idea where the list of chapter names is going, and I did it because I needed to express my cheesily poetic self somewhere. I feel like I'm the director of a sitcom.

Gaius watched them ride off as he stood on the castle steps, his hands clasped in front of him, as to keep his fingers from trembling. Guinevere, for once, was not out with him, but instead was by the kitchen helping them prepare a feast for the when the King came back, in whatever ways she could. He wished he could have her optimism. Alas, he was a practical man.

He wished that he didn’t have knowledge, and the certainty that comes along with it. It did help in times of great trouble to solve problems and prevent shortages and kill beasts, but in times like these he wished he had no idea where the chances lay. The Disir had spoken, so there were no questions left to ask. He remembered the day when Tahe, a druid and his friend, was condemned by them and fell off a cliff (accidentally) the same day. It seemed like the Disir controlled the fate instead of the other way around. They never offered redemption, but Gaius dearly hoped that Merlin, being Merlin, would find a bargain. 

Talking of the boy, his ward had spent the whole night lying awake sifting through painful memories to find out what, exactly, he hadn’t done for Arthur. Gaius suspected the boy was more disturbed because of failing his destiny and not his impending death. Typical. Once upon a time he felt the same, for his steadfast and gentle king before he went insane with grief. Many would say that the man’s insanity began in that brief period after Morgana’s return, or the year after her betrayal, but the truth was that the man had gone insane the day his wife died of his own causing. Gaius stayed, trying to reason with a crazy man instead of joining his friends. He did try to save them, of course, and he liked to think that he had done more good to them by staying back, but some days he had his doubts. He wished the days of magic and prosperity would come back, but not at the cost of Merlin’s death for a failure that wasn’t even truly his, even though Merlin would disagree with him. Gaius was a selfish man, and he knew it. He had tried, of course, but Merlin was the one person he couldn’t ever compromise on.

* * *

 

Merlin was trying very, _very_ hard to be positive. It didn’t seem like his efforts worked, though, and he was as jittery as an excited horse climbing a mountain on the way to the Disir. Gaius had explained the location of the cave to an Arthur who had awoken very unnaturally early and wasn’t even cranky about it. Merlin had thought that The Incident, as he called it, would change how Arthur treated Merlin. But, for some reason, Arthur acted the same, if rather more overbearing than before. It was as if Arthur, instead of protecting everyone from Merlin (who was a powerful sorcerer, and that meant that for Arthur he was an evil one), he was trying to protect Merlin from everyone else. Merlin would never understand how the prat’s mind worked.

It also seemed as if Arthur was more jittery than Merlin was. The man, who usually spent rides out teasing Merlin about his habit of jumping at everything, was jumpy himself. He had everyone stop at least 3 times till midday due to suspicious sounds, which were, in all cases, birds. The knights, sensing his mood, didn’t argue that much, except for Gwaine, who still hadn’t stopped his inane chatter. At first, Gwaine looked at Merlin with barely disguised hurt, and then appeared to be confused and then proceeded to torment Merlin. Percival looked at Merlin with awe when he thought Merlin wouldn’t notice, and Elyan kept looking suspiciously between Percival and Gwaine. It was weird, though Merlin didn’t dare ask. The only person who was being normal was Leon, who simply rode on/glared at Gwaine, though the man wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Merlin was also very, very tired. Also very pissed off and depressed, but such things aren’t needed to be said. He didn’t mind being a dead man walking (because, by that point, he had been “a dead man walking” for most of his damned life), but that Arthur was going to die. He hoped that he felt so because of duty and destiny and fear of Morgana claiming the throne (the woman was off her rocker, and while Merlin precipitated it, that wasn’t exactly his fault), but it was because Merlin had actually managed to grow on the supercilious prat. He was so shaky and tired from all the scanning of memories he had done the whole night, that he felt like if Arthur threw an affectionate “Idiot” or a goblet at him, he’d break down into tears. He almost did the morning when Arthur did both, and Arthur tried to cheer him up with a headlock which honestly just made it worse. He then fled from the chambers, which could be the reason for Arthur being quiet (Arthur and quiet. Heh).

Merlin was thinking about all those cheery things when Arthur told them all to dismount. It was a few hours past midday, and the heat was oppressive in the woods with the humidity hanging low on all of them. Arthur didn’t even let Merlin tie down the horses, instead asking Gwaine to do it, who simply winked at him and set himself to work. Merlin looked offendedly at an Arthur who wouldn’t meet his eyes and then stomped off to the general direction of the cave that Gaius had indicated. Arthur paled, ran to catch up, unsheathed his sword and nudged Merlin behind him. Merlin rolled his eyes at his back.

They walked the whole way like that, Merlin trying to stand next to Arthur and Arthur nudging him back. Gwaine still hadn’t shut up and was now talking about the feasibility of talking swords. Percival boxed him on the head. Gwaine grinned flirtatiously at him. Elyan and Leon, meanwhile, took Arthur’s protectiveness as an order and walked close on Merlin’s either side.

Merlin felt it creeping up on him, the magic. It was like cool honey running up his spine, and he trembled like a leaf every once in a while. It made his senses heightened until he was sure that an eagle couldn’t see better than he did. He could see the small hair on the stem of the saplings, hear the sound of a beetle crawling, but what was the most disorienting was the interconnectedness of life. He’d always _felt_ forests, the bustling amount of life in a mere oak tree, but the sensation this time was almost overwhelming.  As the group got closer, he realised that the others felt magic too, but not the aliveness, which made him want to pity them, even though he wasn’t in any situation to pity anyone. By the time they reached the cave inside the grove, the small pool of honey had settled at the back of his head and was threatening to give him a pounding headache. He gave up on trying to be optimistic.

Merlin tried to get Arthur to leave the weapons outside as they stood at the entrance. He had a bad feeling that it won’t be taken kindly by the women waiting inside. As soon as Merlin gave him the doe eyes, he sighed and ordered the men to put their weapons by the boulder near the cave.

The men stood frozen by the entrance after putting down their weapons. Arthur still looked almost queasy- his eyes kept darting around, and his hand was still hovering by his belt where he usually kept his sword. Merlin grimly looked at all of them, and announced –

“Let’s go.”

* * *

They reluctantly followed Merlin, who simply started to walk into the cave, until Arthur pushed him behind himself and gave some complicated hand orders to the knights. There were talismans of wood and thread hanging off the ceiling of the cave, some of which had fallen down and were being crushed under their boots. Merlin simply sidestepped them, wishing he could telepathically tell Arthur to be a bit more respectful. Even Gwaine was acting more respectful than he was, and if Merlin died it was going to be Arthur’s fault, though current circumstances made it seem like the vice versa would happen first.

The only sound in the passageway was the crunching of boots and a distant tricking of water. The sound of the water grew louder as they traveled further, along with the heaviness of magic which hung lower than the humidity that Merlin had been complaining about mere days before. It heightened his senses so much that he felt that he’d spontaneously combust if anything so much as touched him. The ache in his head was pounding now, in a foreign rhythm not of his heart.

The cave opened to a roughly circular chamber, with an elevated ledge  on which three cloaked figures stood, all with a staff in their hands. Behind them, there was a small pool into which the drops fell _drip, drip, drip_ to the patient rhythm which he realised was of the magic. Merlin could only see the figures’ chins, what with the lack of light and their hoods pulled over their heads.

Arthur walked up to them and bellowed, “I am Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot and a friend of Merlin. “

Merlin startled at this casual attribution to their friendship (which was something Arthur had started doing more and more since that fateful day Merlin killed Agravaine), but Arthur paid him no attention and continued on.

“I’ve come to know the meaning of this.” He held up the rune mark and glared at the figures, but the figures remained silent.

Arthur seemed, impossibly, to get even more agitated, but the man took a deep breath and said something about “being judged by one’s peers” which Merlin didn’t get because the _drip drip drip_ had turned to a _splash splash splash_ with a speed that took away all of Merlin’s newly heightened senses and simply rendered them useless. He was glad Arthur hadn’t turned to look at him.

He was, however, snapped out of it when the figure in the middle spoke with a gravelly but distinctly feminine voice, “We do not judge,”

“We do not condemn,” the woman next to her added.

“We are but the internuncio of the one who presides over all,” said the other one.

“Who sees all”

“Who knows all.”

And then, the three of them said together, “The triple goddess.”

Their voices had been getting faster and now Merlin could sense the discomfort in the air; no matter how much magic had been condemned, nobody dared disturb a goddess. That’s when he recognised that the knights, especially Arthur, were looking at him as if they expected him to answer.

_Oh,_ of course they expected him to answer, but for the lack of one, he remained silent. Arthur pursed his lips and was just about to speak when the Disir spoke over him, “And you, Emrys, have angered her.” 

The accusation had made him feel filthy, but then, he’d felt filthy since the first time he killed a man, and he cleaned it off every day. He looked to the ground, because he’d rather not answer the messengers of the Goddess head on, but by the Gods, he’d answer them.

“What have I done to do that?” He spoke as softly as he could, which meant it echoed across the cave. And then the replies started to echo too,

“You’ve failed to bring the magic back,” 

“And now your beloved king will die before the Golden Age.”

 “Treat our decision as mercy,”

 “For now you won’t live to watch him die.” 

He closed his eyes, for the only things he could do other than that were to out himself as a sorcerer or beg the Goddess for his friend’s life. So, instead, he focused on the pulse of magic throbbing at the back of his head, and drifted away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weeeee, tell me what you felt/thought/imagined/wanted to kill. Always appreciated


	4. for even as

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin's standing at death's door, or at least that's what Arthur thinks. Gwaine finally realises what is going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back to get this big ball of angst rolling :)

Arthur was having a really bad day, and he wasn’t even exaggerating. He was forced out of the bed, too early, by a servant who wasn’t Merlin. That was too reminiscent of the time Merlin had been kidnapped and Arthur thought he was dead, and Arthur threw the napkin the servant had daintily set on his chest on the man’s face and ran to Gaius’s chambers, because Merlin should’ve been fine by then.

Then found out that the girl was still not awake and spent the day beating his knights up. Except for the part that he was too distracted to do that very well and ended up embarrassing himself by losing to his newest knight, Mordred. Then he stalked up to his chambers looking for Guinevere to knock some sense into his head because the worrying was driving him insane, but he couldn’t find her anywhere. He then went to Gaius’s chambers again because Merlin should have been fine by now.

That’s where he was, sitting at Merlin’s bedside like a lady beside her husband. He almost took Merlin’s (sickly, pale) hand but decided it would be too much. Also, Gaius was in the room, and it wouldn’t do to burden the old man with worry for the king, too.

Arthur still worried, of course. The sight of Merlin there, on the cave floor, pale and still, wasn’t anything that Arthur would forget anytime soon. Arthur swore that for a moment, Merlin had stopped breathing.

As soon as Merlin had fallen to the ground, Arthur had gotten out of his shock and the next thing he knew, he was holding Merlin in his arms, checking whether he was still breathing or not. And he was; Arthur went almost boneless with relief, before he realized that the Disir were still standing there, silent and tall as if they hadn’t done god-knows-what to Merlin.

Before he could bellow out accusations, they calmed him with a few sentences about how Merlin was still alive and won’t be soon, and Arthur couldn’t get Merlin out of there soon enough.  

The ride to Camelot was the tensest journey Arthur had ever been on; the Disir weren’t very specific about when exactly the “soon” they mentioned would come about, and as he held Merlin’s limp body in his arms as he rode, he noted every breath of his. He made the men stop more than thrice to check whether Merlin was still breathing over the thunder of the hooves when it got hard to hear.

He grabbed Merlin’s hand as Gaius went out of the room, promising himself that Merlin would never, ever know of this. Merlin's breathing was shallow and his face was the kind of ashen it only was after his days at the tavern. Arthur squeezed it and prayed to whatever gods that condemned him that they had gotten the wrong person, how Merlin was the kindest man he knew, making time to take rounds with Gaius and to cook food for the other servants when they were sick, going armor-less and weaponless into every skirmish Arthur got into, brave and loyal, day in and day out, and for how much he cribbed about it, he hadn’t taken a single day off. He was the most understanding person Arthur knew, because Arthur didn’t even have to say anything to him for him to understand what Arthur meant; Merlin knew Arthur like the back of his hand, and it was alright if Arthur didn’t know Merlin that way, he was fine with it as long as he got Merlin around him, he didn’t even care whether he was magic anymore. He just wanted to make sure that Merlin didn’t die because of it. Everything would be fine as long as he survived, because Merlin would be there with him.

Arthur didn’t know he was crying until Gaius was back in. He wiped hastily at his eyes before Gaius noticed. It was going to be a long, long night.

* * *

Gwaine was confused.

That wasn’t very surprising considering his antics, but this time not even his sober mind could figure out what went on. All of it was simply muddled, because he had put it all together while drunk and lost all the pieces. He would have been fine with it, if Merlin wasn’t lying in the infirmary half-dead.

He would’ve been fine with it if he hadn’t figured out what Merlin hid. He would’ve been fine with it if he hadn’t discovered why he was condemned. But he knew, _he knew_ , and yet he didn’t know it well enough to save Merlin. He resumed staring at the spot on the wall, his full tankard still in his hand.

That is how Percival found him, sitting there staring at the wall, entirely sober because every time he tried taking a sip, he saw the morbid image of Merlin dead on the cave floor, his half-lidded eyes gold.

Percival startled him out of his contemplation by putting a heavy hand on Gwaine’s shoulder, and it was all he could do to not jerk away. See, it had been awkward with him ever since Percival carried him roaring drunk to his room and let him sleep on his bed. Not that Gwaine particularly minded, but the morning after had been full of disappointments when he woke up to the mountain of a knight sleeping on the floor, completely dressed. Gwaine cringed, thinking about how he sang compliments for Percival’s arms that night.

Percy looked at him with a nonplussed expression, one which he had kept on since that night. He was unsurprisingly tight lipped about the whole incident, the chivalrous knight he was. Gwaine tried to grin and miserably failed, which caused Percy to tut and sit down next to him on the bench.

“Sober?” he asked, keeping the same expression on his face.

“Nope” Gwaine tried to lie, and failed again if Percival’s neutral expression was anything to go by.

They sat there in silence for five minutes until Gwaine caved and said “Its Merlin.”

Percival’s eyebrow twitched, but he did not change his expression. Gwaine, in his frustration, wondered how he ever thought this rock of a man was hot.

“You know, don’t you?” Gwaine asked. Silence answered him. It was like talking to thin air.

Gwaine thought about the golden eyes. He thought about all the griffons and monsters that suddenly died while Merlin was hiding behind the trees, all the times Arthur had been poisoned and just hadn’t died, about the Once and Future King.

Guardian.

The fact that Merlin had magic was… understandable. Logical, really. He never imagined him being their savior and the herald of a new era.

He remembered Merlin’s hatred of the new knight, how Merlin almost shivers out of fright whenever Mordred is in close combat with Arthur. He remembered the vehement arguments Merlin made to Arthur, who believed none of them.

Mordred who still can’t go on patrols, who spends most of his time inside the citadel, charming each and every one of the residents. Maybe it’s some prediction that Merlin knows through his magic, or an actual murderous motive that he’s found by some sorcerous sneaking around.

But either way, there is a knight who’s supposed to kill the king, and Merlin’s only way to convince Arthur is to reveal himself.

Not the only option, though. Dying works, too.

Gwaine looked up to Percival, and mused,

“Oh, what the fates do to fulfill their prophecies.”

The people from the table over gave him looks, for it was a drunken man’s rambling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Do let me know what you think.


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